The Last Journey
by Vema
Summary: Merry and Pipping make their final journey to Gondor. Slashy and sappy sweet. One of my best fics, in my opinion, even ten years on. Merry/Pippin


The Last Journey 

by: Vema 

They were old, Merry reflected, he one hundred and two and Pippin ninety-four. Old and slower to move than in their youth, yet they traveled as quickly as they could towards Rohan, for they knew not much time was allotted to King Eomer. They were almost there now; they could see the cities walls from their campsite and planned to finish their ride by evening at the latest. 

Merry looked to his right, to where Pippin was gathering their cooking equipment into his pack, his white hair moving softly in the warm breeze. The sight, though changed forever from his memory, reminded him of their journey so long ago. It was nearly seventy years past now. His eyes began to grow wet, his face warm with tears unshed. 

How many times had he almost lost his most beloved friend then to the forces of darkness? How many nights had he sat up in Rohan and on the way to Gondor, unable to sleep, and thought of what might have become of his dearest Peregrin? They were different from that time now, the both of them, more refined and less childish. There was no doubt in his mind that if they had been in this mindset back then, Pippin would never have looked into the palantir. They may never have asked to go on the journey at all, and then where would they be? 

Dead, all of them, or enslaved by the Dark Lord. He shivered as he remembered the horrible cold that had invaded his soul on the Fields of Pelennor, then more so as he recalled the look of Pippin when they'd brought him to the Houses of Healing after that final battle. He'd almost lost the most important thing to him in the world, and the thought of what might have been still burned in his heart though the light of gratitude shone through like a blazing star. 

Pippin's hands were shaking slightly as he lifted the heavy iron into his bag, his joints being more prone to aching now than not. Those same hands had been a comfort to Merry finally, after the feasting and celebrating was over and they'd finally had time to absorb what had almost been. They had shaken slightly then as now, from a searching want he hadn't realized was there before, and Merry's own hands had echoed that want. 

His skin burned as he remembered the taut body of his beloved stretched over his own, mouths locked and tongues searching, two hard forms pressed together and undulating as tears soaked into fragrant pillows. Pippin had smelled of herbs and leather and sweat, everything that was so incredibly Pippin that it made Merry want to lose himself forever under the weight of his cousin. It was wonderful; Pippin's body always made him feel safe. He never wanted to stop making love to Pippin, never wanted to lose that perfect, warm, wanted feeling that didn't let him dwell on past pain. It was the only thing that ever again made him feel whole, and his insides always shook with the fierce completeness of their two bodies fusing into one. 

It had been months since they'd last taken the time to worship each other physically. Neither had much strength after a day's work for anything but short embraces and fleeting kisses. Sometimes it seemed they were nothing more than old friends. They would read books by the fire before being shooed off to bed by their wives, at least until Estella and Diamond had left them to only themselves. Both of the women had died last winter, nearly within a month of each other. 

They didn't have much time left either. Both of them knew it, and they also knew they would never see their beloved Shire again. But it was enough that they would be together until the end, on the road to Rohan and then to Minas Tirith. 

It was then suddenly that Merry realized Pippin had stopped his task and was gazing at him with a glint of worry in his eye, his face drawn with it. "Is something wrong then, Master Holdwine?" he asked, standing and walking to him slowly. 

A gust of wind and the feel of cool wetness on his face told Merry his emotions had gotten the better of him. Pippin stood mere inches from him now, and raised a trembling hand to his cheek. "What troubles you, dearest Meriadoc?" 

Merry couldn't answer him. His own hands moved to cup Pippin's face, tracing the curves and lines and wrinkles that meant so many years of happiness were behind them, and not many were left in this world. He kissed the worry lines of his cousin's forehead, the tip of his nose, the crows feet at the corners of his eyes, the lines worn in by how often Pippin had smiled, blessing each of them silently in turn, before looking into Pippin's eyes with a desperation to let the younger hobbit know how very much space he took up in his heart. He didn't seem so much younger now, with so many decades behind them, so many marks of time on their skins and souls. 

Merry ran his hands into the pearly hair as Pippin leaned in for a light kiss, chaste and full of everything Merry hand wanted to say but couldn't find words for. They broke apart, and he stroked the soft curls lightly. "Will you lay with me a while, Pip?" he asked quietly, his whole form shaking with his request. 

"Merry darling, I will always lay with you." 

Merry's heart swelled up as he was pulled onto their blankets with so much joy he thought he may burst, so much thankfulness for what he had that he let one great sob before Pippin stopped him with his mouth. They wouldn't make it to Rohan today. 

And in the early morning hours, their two frail bodies became young again, made so by a love so strong and so true than even time could not touch it but to make it stronger. 

~end 


End file.
